


Long Distance

by TrulyCertain



Series: I like big plots and I cannot lie (Kink Meme prompts) [14]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Warden!Alistair, pre-Here Lies The Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She goes, he follows, even if it takes a while - it's been the same for nearly ten years now. They were happy that way, or at least he thought they were. The thought of that changing...</i>
</p><p>For the prompt: "If you ask Alistair why his isn't with the Warden, he says "There was a discussion, believe me!" I've seen several reunion fics but I have seen any of Alistair and the Warden having to part. So give me the fight that you know happened, Alistair unwilling to leave her but knowing that they have to part. Give me the goodbye sex. Give me H/C and angst and fluff."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Distance

This is worse than the months where she was in Amaranthine and there was an ocean between them. This is worse than... most things, actually, even the time he spent stationed in Kirkwall. She goes, he follows, even if it takes a while - it's been the same for nearly ten years now. They were happy that way, or at least he thought they were. The thought of that changing...  
  
She's standing in front of him, her hands on her hips,  _glaring_  at him. "I have to try," she insists. Their voices have been getting louder for the past half an hour, and he's very relieved that he shut the door to their quarters.  
  
"No." He shakes his head. "No, you don't. Or at least take me with you. Give me that, if just for my peace of mind. You know what I'm like." He offers her a small, crooked half-smile, the one that often charms her enough to finish arguments before they even really begin.   
  
It doesn't work. She stands steadfast, giving him the Look. He knows that look all too well: it's the one she wore when facing the Archdemon, and frankly he'd rather try and fight a horde of darkspawn with a teaspoon than confront her when she has this expression on her face. She can be as stubborn as an ogre, sometimes.  
  
 _"Please,"_  he says, hating the way his voice breaks on the word. "What if you get hurt, or if you... you  _die_? I won't know. You know how slow word can be. I'll be stuck with blighted Orlesians who'll be too busy telling me which fork to use to get round to killing any darkspawn, and you'll be..." He inhales sharply. The words stick in his throat, choking him. He can't. He's been hers since he was twenty, since he was an idiot boy who thought that a few jokes might keep the Blight at bay, and he can't play at joviality any more. Not now. The thought of losing her kills him.  
  
She smiles, though it's shaky and thoroughly unconvincing, no matter what she might think. "I'll be fine. Warden who ended the Blight, remember?"  
  
"How can I forget?" He laughs, more than a little bothered by how bitter it sounds. "And there were two of us, by the way. Or have you forgotten that?" He steps closer until they're nearly nose to nose, puts a hand on her arm. "That's how we got through it. We had each other."  
  
She jerks away from him with a harsh shake of her head, her teeth gritted. "No. You're not playing that card, not now. That was ten years ago. You're big enough and ugly enough to deal with the Wardens on your own, and if I take you with me and I fuck this up..." There are tears in her eyes. He fixes his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder, because if he has to watch her on the edge of tears and know that it's his fault, he'll crumble. He'll give her anything, everything she wants, and then she'll walk out of that door, go off and get herself killed in some bloody cave somewhere searching in vain for a cure, and he'll never forgive himself. "I'm not" - her voice trembles, and she tries again - "I'm not losing you to my mistakes."  
  
"You  _won't!_ " he snaps, frustration getting the better of him. It comes out sharper than he intended it to, and he wants to apologize, but he can't let her leave like this. He _won't._  "You never  _have_ , all the times before, and you  _won't_. I can look after myself, in case you haven't noticed."  
  
"Then why are you so afraid of me going?" she demands, and oh, there's a glint in her eye now, because she thinks she's found a way to win. It's terrifyingly sexy when directed at him during... certain other activities, but here it's just plain terrifying. "You  _know_  it's dangerous. You've just admitted as much!"

There are so many times and places he'd love to see her triumphant, to see that raising of her chin and the narrowing of her eyes, but this isn't one of them. "Because  _I love you,_  you madwoman!"  
  
"And I you, idiot." Now it's her turn to stalk towards him, to put a hand on his cheek and look into his eyes, and that, that strange tenderness in the middle of a row, takes the wind out of his sails completely. "You are..." she tries. With an inhale that sounds more like a sob, she says, "You are the finest man I've ever met, you are the best thing in my life, and if there's anyone who deserves to have a full and, and happy life, it's you." She pulls him down, brings her forehead to his. Her breathing is harsh. "I won't, I  _can't_  lose you to the Blight after all we've done. I can't let the Calling take another good man,  _my_  good man, and pretend that it's normal, that I don't care." Tears have begun to course down her cheeks. He doesn't realize he's nearly as bad until his vision is blurring and he feels her start to wipe his cheeks with her thumbs. They're calloused, hard from training, but her touch is gentle the way it always is. Ten years ago, he might have made some sort of forced joke about his manly pride, but these days, he's old enough and wise enough to know that he doesn't have any. "I want you to be able to grow old and fat and happy."  
  
He attempts a laugh, but it's trembling so badly that it's more of a soft, uneven breath. "This old, fat future? I - I have to say that I'm all for it. As long as it includes you." He takes her hand from his face, grips it tight. "Please, don't leave me."  
  
She draws back, but lets him keep holding her hand. "If I don't go, you die. Too soon, in some Maker-forsaken cave somewhere. If I do go, you have half a chance. _We_  have half a chance. If you try and stop me, I will end up sneaking out to do it anyway. You know you won't catch me if I don't want you to."  
  
"You're not going to give this up, are you?" He sighs. It's true - ten years and she can still sneak up on him. Or away from him. He looks at her properly, then: traces her face, trying to memorize every feature. He finds his fingers following the movements, running softly over her cheekbones, her nose, her lips. He feels her slipping away from him, and he wants desperately to step into all the space she has to offer, wants to cling to her and never let go. (The two of them. Always.) He could fight her, say something cruel, keep trying. "I love you," he says instead, and it feels far too much like he's acquiescing, or, Maker forbid, agreeing to this. It's a crushing resignation, but it's also trust - the trust between two Wardens who are used to being the  _only_  two Wardens, between two people who know each other down to their bones.  _I love you_  is  _don't you dare die on me_  and  _look after yourself_  and  _come home to me._  It feels far too much like goodbye.

He kisses her then, needing it, needing  _her_ , and it begins gentle but then she's deepening it and he's responding, pulling her closer, and he is certain that if there isn't at least one point of contact between them, if he has to stop touching her, he might well die. There's a desperation that hasn't been present for a long while; it hasn't needed to be - there's been more time, a morning to wake up together and maybe do it all again. This? This is something different. This is the night before the Archdemon, before her transfer to Amaranthine again, the union before a long separation, the last desperate gripping of the hand before it has to let go. Somewhere along the way, clothes have come off and it's all too fast, and they force themselves to slow down, to not mistake desperation for tenderness.  
  
She's catching her breath, lying with her head on his chest, when she says, "Thank you."  
  
He smirks at her, his hand still absentmindedly tracing patterns on her arm. "What, for this?"  
  
"You know what for."  
  
"Just... come back in one piece. It would be awfully inconvenient if you didn't." He tries for a smile.  
  
She mock-glares at him. "Your glib tongue does you no credit."  
  
The laugh escapes him before he can think about it, and he's so very, ridiculously glad he met her. He raises an eyebrow. "Actually, I recall you being rather fond of my tongue."  
  
She obliges him with a laugh, then turns in his arms, kisses him long and slow. "I love you," she says afterwards.  
  
"I should hope so," he murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear.  
  
Much as he tries to resist, sleep creeps up on him eventually, and he succumbs to it with his arms around her, the two of them tangled comfortably together.  
  
He's cold when he wakes up, and he knows without looking that she's gone. Sure enough, when he opens his eyes, the bed is empty. He screws his eyes shut, almost hoping that when he reopens them, she'll be there. She isn't, of course, and he stretches with a drawn-out yawn, turning the movement into climbing out of bed. He rolls his shoulders, takes a deep breath. Prepares to face a new day.


End file.
